AD&D Character Histories, Four Misc
by biggstrek
Summary: Four of my old Character Histories bundled together... one chapter each.
1. Fornax Hrugjek

THE HISTORY OF FORNAX HRUGJEK  
  
One dark and steamy night on the outskirts of civilization, a hunting party of nomadic orcs roamed the borders of a little-known village. It was the time of year that brought out the worst in these beasts of evil. It was breeding time.  
  
Dragging the carcass of a wildebeest, the gang of villains approached the pocket of human civilization, their animal senses probing through the humid night air. Within a hundred yards of the first homestead, the lead orc's nostrils flared, filled with the scent he'd been searching for: female.  
  
Barely able to control himself, the orc leader signalled to his comrades, who had smelled the sweet odour only moments later, commanding them to stay hidden and observe the small communities movements. It was all they could do to control their animal instincts and remain in hiding. After ten intense minutes of observation, the leader suddenly succumbed to his strong desires and bolted forward, his henchmen at his heels.  
  
The surly gang charged to a nearby mud-brick construction, following the ever-stronger scent to its source. Smashing what was a securely bolted door, the orcs charged into the home, their senses aflame with the need to reproduce.  
  
Women screamed, children cried, and men yelled in rage and indignation as all were attacked and raped. Clothes were torn away; weapons were thrown aside as the mad pack of lusting orcs relieved their pent-up needs on those in the house.  
  
After no more than five minutes, the orcs had spent themselves of their immediate reproductive needs and changed tactics. They started to kill. Men died first, then a few children. As the blood-lusting orcs approached the women, however, the town's militia arrived, cancelling the orcs' advantage. So in true orc fashion they turned and fled, bodily pushing their way back through the doorway and the fifteen or so militia. Many men and orcs died in that brief struggle, but one or two of the vile creatures managed to race away, back into the hot, humid forest.  
  
* * *  
  
A mass funeral was held two days later in the town graveyard, 'til recently empty but now with a quarter of the town's populace. The rest stood watching their loved ones lowered into the ground, grieving at their loss; vowing vengeance!  
  
But the worst was yet to come. Nine months later three children were born to the village. As the first was delivered so it was slaughtered by the mother's husband, his strong hands easily snapping its ugly half-orc neck. No one tried to stop him. The second child was stillborn, but its lifeless neck was still throttled by an angry midwife in futile rage and grief from her son's death those few months ago.  
  
But the third child lived, its mother a fifteen year old child herself, but with more compassion than most of her elders. Before she went into labour, the girl sought the local priest, begging asylum in the church, the first building of the village, and cried to him to allow her child to live. During the difficult birth, the young girl died, never seeing the ugly half- caste child she left the priest. It was a test of his mettle and faith when the village almost turned on him when he allowed the child to live. His good standing and honoured position in the community, plus his people's own deep down compassion won through.  
  
And so Fornax Hrugjek lived. 


	2. Barney Browbuster

THE TALE OF  
  
BARNEY BROWBUSTER  
  
Many years ago, a man named Cale Everthorne worked as a mercenary for a semi-successful rug merchant. A proficient fighter and proven adventurer, Cale had taken the employment as a rest from his previously strenuous and highly demanding life. After just six months with the merchant, Cale had built a strong friendship with his ageing employer. More and more the old man would leave Cale with much of the work; haggling and making financial decisions with little or no consultation. Before long, Cale was single- handedly running the business due to the merchant's ever failing health. And the business flourished under his guidance. The sickly rug peddler couldn't have been more pleased with the results. But alas, one day, the merchant passed on, leaving his once small, almost struggling business in the hands of the mercenary he'd once hired to protect it; the man who'd brought his business from the brink of black despair and pushed it firmly into the light of success. He died a happy man.  
  
Cale Everthorne was not one to mourn long, however, and so quickly took hold of the reigns of his business and determinedly built it into a thriving enterprise. His wealth grew and grew, as did his number of employees, allowing Cale to establish a home base in the town of Turondil. As a reasonably large metropolis, Turondil sported an equally large social class. And it was not long before Cale's money attracted the attention of Turondil's socialites.  
  
At one of the weekly Balls held by the self-proclaimed Elite Social Set, Cale met with an older woman of undeniable beauty; Lady Stella Ormand. A recent widow and mother of three adult children, the Lady found Cale (and his fortune) extremely attractive, and immediately set designs upon him. And Cale saw the Lady Ormand as a radiantly alluring woman that a man of his humble background couldn't possibly deny. It was not long, therefore, before the two were married, displeasing Stella's children ("Oh pooh, mother's married a commoner!") and giving the 'Social Set something to gossip over for weeks!  
  
But the disquiet of the children and Turondil's socialites had little effect on the happiness of Cale and Stella's marriage. Only Stella's refusal to have more children, so Cale could bring up a son, produced any conflict between the otherwise blissful couple ("I'm too old to start breeding again!"). This aside, they were happy for many years.  
  
After seven years of marriage in the social spotlight, Cale and Stella slowly started to drift apart. The hidden pressures and rigors of an overly analysed married life started to take their toll. Stella often went to Turondil's gala occasions with her son, leaving the restless Cale at home to brood. Eventually the ex-mercenary contacted some old business friends who quickly advised him to pursue some of his own hobbies. And within two weeks, Cale bought himself a lodge five hours from Turondil; a getaway; a place were he could relax and enjoy the outdoors life once again - if only for a week or two at a time.  
  
This worked well for a while, it allowed Cale to go off hunting, or just riding about the picturesque countryside, and leave all his worries behind him. The world seemed a much better place in which to live. But that old demon, time, came back into play. Thoughts and emotions started to drift through Cale Everthorne, making him restless and annoyed once again. His two servants at the country estate quickly learnt when to avoid their master. One such day happened to coincide with a particularly unsuccessful hunting expedition. Cale stormed into the country house, cursing and calling for ale, his temper obviously not the best. The cold winter night skulked in behind him, though reluctantly.  
  
"Dreyfus? Dreyfus! Where are you?" he bellowed, "Bring me some ale NOW, you overweight layabout!"  
  
Cursing vehemently, Cale burst into the kitchen on a seek and destroy mission, and sent his man-servant, Dreyfus, flying backwards, the keg he'd had in his hands tracing an arc though the air above his head. Grimacing, Cale could only watch on in horror as the keg went crashing into the shelves of crockery on the other side of the room. It then fell to the floor, making a heart rending THUD! on impact, but with it's contents miraculously secure. But before Cale could wipe the grimace from his face and replace it with his previous scowl, Dreyfus, momentarily forgotten, kept teetering backwards across the kitchen, his large bulk preventing him from regaining any form of balance.  
  
"Holy mother of Pearl!" yelled Cale, his scowl completely forgotten as Dreyfus' course became apparent to him, "Jump, man, JUMP!" But it was to no avail. The big servant's posterior inexorably fell onto the defenceless keg, smashing it into it's component parts - and then smashing those to pieces. Cale was quickly at his servant's side, a worried look on his face. "I'm alright, Sir," Dreyfus said, "Something broke my fall."  
  
"Its not you I'm concerned about, oaf. Look what you've done!"  
  
And Dreyfus could feel the ale slowly starting to soak into his clothing whilst he looked down at the wooden turmoil beneath him (a cooper in Turondil looked into the night sky, a tear tracing his cheek - he knew not why).  
  
"I suppose you're going to tell me that what you're sitting on was the last keg in the house?"  
  
"Um, I know where I can get another, Sir," came the weak reply, "though it may take a while."  
  
"Well, don't just sit there like a twenty stone mop, go and get it!" bellowed Cale. Dreyfus then quickly scurried away. Before long he was astride his little donkey, Oatie, trotting away from his angry master. "How long are you going to take, Dreyfus!" came Cale's following yell, "Where are going to get this keg?" But no reply came, leaving the fuming Cale even angrier than before (not an easy thing to do) and thirstier to boot. He then stormed back into the house, violently pushing the door ahead of him and almost knocked the other servant, Rosey Blush. A young maid, the girl did in fact blush, and stammered out, "S-sir, shall I m-make your dinner n- now?"  
  
Hesitating, Cale eventually replied, "Yes, girl, you may as well," and they both went into the house, Cale's eyes on the servant-girl, watching her swaying, braided red hair.  
  
It was not long before Rosey brought Cale his meal, by now Cale had relaxed sufficiently (having found some spirits and liqueurs Lady Stella had brought with her on her one and only visit) while Rosey, too, had recovered. Laying the meal out before him, she then started back to the kitchen, only to be stopped by Cale's now calm voice, "Rosey, there's plenty here for both of us; join me. I think I could do with the company, right now," he asked her.  
  
"Certainly, my lord," Rosey replied, "I was hoping you'd ask me." And she blushed, sitting next to him.  
  
"You know, you can call me Cale, Rosey. I'm far from being a lord."  
  
"You are to me, Cale" and she blushed again, but with a small fire in her green eyes as Cale's hand rested on hers. Their eyes locked and their hearts beat as one while Cale gently caressed Rosey's hand. "I think I've loved you since the day you hired me, three years ago," she breathed. And she didn't resist when Cale led her to the furs in front of the roaring fire, their clothes seeming to fall from their bodies as if by magic.  
  
"Magic?" Cale absently asked, his attention elsewhere.  
  
"Could be," Rosey soundlessly mouthed in reply.  
  
* * * 


	3. Pierce The Bloodletter

"PIERCE - THE BLOODLETTER"  
  
(A brief look into his past...)  
  
Born and raised in the farming community of Claudiant, the young elf, Darianis Claudiatu, lived a sour and lonely existence. Even as a small child, Darianis preferred to wander on his own rather than with his parents or siblings. As he grew older, he would roam further and further afield, often not returning home for weeks on end, to the endless consternation of his family.  
  
In an attempt to bring the loner closer to them, his parents introduced Darianis to the bow (his father was an award winning shot.) Fascinated by the precision and expertise required, and his father's brilliance, Darianis joyously took up the challenge of archery. Before long, Darianis was as good as his father. But, unfortunately, the young elf lad found the bow a great toy to take along with him on his walks, causing him to wander further and longer from home.  
  
Almost losing his temper, Darianis' father banned his son from leaving their small farmlet, hoping that a bit of discipline would bring the elf into line. But it was not to be. At his first chance, Darianis fled to the forest. Here he made and used a spear to catch fish, and a bow and arrows to bring down more game. With his food supply assured, Darianis survived on his own for over a year.  
  
Eventually, though, he returned to his family farmlet to face the wrath of his sire. But lo! on his return he found his home besieged by a snarling mountain lion! Without hesitation, Darianis brought forth his bow and fired a torrent of deadly missiles, quickly following up with a lightning charge with his spear. Realizing a dangerous foe was at hand, the creature fled, but was unable to escape the piercing wounds inflicted by Darianis, and so fell, slain.  
  
Once reunited with his family, Darianis was embraced with joyous affection. One brother was so impressed by Darianis' skill that he nicknamed him "Pierce - The Bloodletter;" a name that was to stay with him for many years.  
  
At last seeing hope for his son, Pierce's father sent him to his uncle, a retired but seasoned warrior. From his uncle, Pierce was to learn the art of war and military campaigning.  
  
Upon arriving at his uncle's home, Pierce not only discovered fighting skills and tactics, but his uncle's cellar as well! In between lessons he would secretly retreat to the dark wine cellar and consume gallons of fine liquors and tawny ports (etc, etc.) His uncle, however, being quite old and losing his hearing and eyesight, failed to notice the younger elf's condition. So Pierce went on and on drinking (his constitution rapidly declining.)  
  
One sorry day, Pierce awoke in the cellar to find it's ceiling collapsed and the house in ruins: a victim of a hurricane. His uncle's body lay motionless amongst the destruction. Still in a stupor from his excessive alcoholism, Pierce was wandering about trying to come to grips with everything when a group of villagers arrived on horseback. Among them a priest and his father, looking very downcast and angry.  
  
Seeing Pierce was drunk, the priest screamed at him the sins that accompany drunkenness, pointing out his complete inability to save his uncle or his house. The flood of priestly outrage eventually died out, however, enabling Pierce's father to talk with his son. Holding back his own anger (barely) he quietly spoke with a chilly voice, never before heard by Pierce.  
  
He told him that his uncle could not be brought back to him, but his life could be repaid by Pierce becoming a great and worthy warrior. Furthermore, he must rely upon his own wits above and beyond all else. Pierce nodded thoughtfully, his head a thundering volcano. Adding to his pain, the priest's fiery voice shouted at him the importance of denying the devil's magic. Avoid it or die!  
  
Pierce then left them, their words swirling about his head in a rainbow of confusion. I must not use magic! I must rely on my skills! Eventually the message: I must not use magic until I have proven my skills! settled into place. Slightly staggering, Pierce the Bloodletter headed towards Portus, his hand automatically reaching for his wine skin... 


	4. Hieronymous Zephyr Air Elementalist

HIERONYMOUS ZEPHYR  
  
- Air Elementalist -  
  
Now, I want you to all sit down, relax and try to get comfortable. This story may go on for a bit. Ready? Good.  
  
Some 23 years ago, I was born into a large family of woodcutters known as the Trielopas. My mother named me Rimone Nicko Trielopas, after her uncle, for which I have forgiven her. It was a name I found rather awkward to relate to, so I vowed to change it when I reach the legal age of maturity. As you can tell, this I did.  
  
The family consisted of 4 sons, 2 daughters, my mother Vera, and her husband Alfonso. You'll notice I didn't say father. This is because, quite simply, he wasn't. Though it was never said, everyone suspected I was not of his stock. A big, strapping man with brilliant red hair and a ruddy complexion, he contrasted with my unusual willowy build, dark hair and fair skin. My mother, bless her gullible heart, looked much like her husband (though I was told she was pretty in youth).  
  
I was the youngest of the sons but older than the youngest daughter, Galianne. Of all my siblings, she was the only one I would call friend. The others were all too tough and rugged for my liking. They'd often call me a wimp when I'd not join in the head butting games, but rather read one of the few books I could find in our small cottage. Galianne, on occasion, would ask me to read to her. This I did gladly, happy to share the little talent I had with someone appreciative.  
  
Conversation in the family seldom strayed far from the popular topic of tree felling. You'll never know how dull that can get! "What kind of tree did ya cut down t'day, dad?" "A cyprus, son." "Oooh, gosh! Can I cut a sigh- pruss one day?" "All in good time, lad." The times I tried to swing the conversation to something more intellectual were often quickly snuffed out by an elder brother, "You may think we live in a multi-dimenshunal quasi- real universe, but how many pines have you felled in a day?!" A real wit, that one.  
  
But my early childhood days weren't all bad. Quite often, the whole family would gather the wood Alfonso had cut and take it to the village square in Holmsgate, to sell or trade. These outings were nothing particularly special in themselves, but they did allow me to hunt down new books to read. Some of the elderly, wizened residents actually had libraries of twenty, sometimes thirty books! They were thought of as intellectuals; I considered them friends.  
  
The most important and fascinating of these village trips, however, was one that coincided with the visit of a group of travelling performers; a circus, if you like. They consisted of many acrobatic fellows balancing on tall poles while short, misshapen creatures played the fool to make us children laugh (I later realized they were called dwarves). But the most astounding and heart-pounding for me was the awe-inspiring winged creature looking like a cross between horse and eagle, being ridden by a lithe, darkly garbed man. I stood and watched the creature for well over an hour, transfixed by its beauty and self-restrained power.  
  
Eventually I was forced to take my eyes away from the creature to eat a sweet that had melted in my hand. When I looked up once more, the creature stood just a few feet in front of me, examining my small form; the darkly dressed rider even closer. His somewhat large eyes, the only part of his body exposed, stared smiling into mine.  
  
"You would like to fly the beast, no?" he asked, with a voice strangely muffled. "You seem the only one unafraid."  
  
Excitement constricting my throat, I managed to force a slightly strangled yes. With that, he quickly picked me up and placed me straight onto the saddle atop the creature and deftly straddled the creature to sit just behind me.  
  
The creature then turned, took a few brief trots and lifted into the air on its magnificent wings. The ground rushed away beneath me and I felt a small moment of unease. But not for long. The sights and sensations of flying totally overwhelmed any fear that may have tried to spoil the moment. I was hooked, no doubt; have been ever since.  
  
We soared high into the blue, summer sky. The ant-like people of the village became difficult to distinguish amongst the varied colours of the landscape so far below. I was in heaven; I was king of all I surveyed; I was the invincible flier... I slipped from the saddle! Fortunately, my dark garbed benefactor grabbed my tunic before I got into any real danger. And not long after that, we headed back down to the dull, uninteresting ground.  
  
After depositing me on the village green, the cloaked rider again looked into my eyes and spoke, "You are too young, I think... but you are the one, no less." With those mysterious words he jumped back onto the creature. "Until we meet again, small one. Train your mind and your body will follow."  
  
And they left; flew off into the distance. I cried and I laughed. I was confused but ecstatic!  
  
Alfonso and Vera severely chastised me for my foolhardy actions and promptly banned me from the village visits until the performers had left. Naturally, I was heart-broken. And equally naturally, I decided I'd run off and find them on my own. Of course I had no idea of where they'd gone, but I was determined none-the-less.  
  
I told Galianne of my decision, knowing she'd understand at least. What I didn't expect was her determination to come with me. I was taken aback; she was far too young, and my unnatural, adult-like wisdom knew I couldn't endanger her life on a whimsy of my own. So I reluctantly decided to stay with the family and suppress my yearning.  
  
Instead, I studied the books I had accumulated and uncovered references to the horse/eagle creature. It was a hippogryph; a rare creature indeed. But the pictures in the books were no match for the memory I retained of its majesty and beauty. And they made no reference to flying the beast, which frustrated me greatly. I wanted to gather as much knowledge as I was able, even though I was unlikely to see it ever again. Though I think deep down, I knew I would.  
  
Several years passed by, ever so slowly. I reached my teens and was expected to help with the woodcutting. The thought abhorred me. What had the trees ever done to me, that I should want their destruction? Clearly our family had a lot to learn. Or maybe the financial side of things eluded me. Whatever, I wasn't impressed, but had to comply. Many a poor innocent tree fell at these hands...  
  
On the few days I was given off, Galianne and I would sometimes venture down to the local river: the Elfwash. There we would sit on the bank and talk fantasies and dreams, wishing the day would never end. One day, to my ever-lasting torment, we stumbled across a small boat lying hidden on the bank. Galianne instantly dived into it, pushed herself out into the slowly flowing river and started jumping up and down, showing off.  
  
It all happened so quickly, yet I remember it all in vivid detail: her little cherub face smiling with glee; the too-large frock she wore swaying around her small jumping body; the boat rocking higher and higher with the movement; the sudden look of terror on Galianne's usually smiling face as the old craft capsized beneath her; the even more frightening sight of it flipping on top of her; and finally the view of the boat, with Galianne trapped beneath it, suddenly, unnaturally, sink (almost dive) into the deep river.  
  
I rushed into the river after her, even though I was a lousy swimmer, and tried to dive down to save her. Ten, twenty feet I went, until I could feel my lungs trying to burst. There was no sign of Galianne or the boat. Thirty, thirty-five feet down. Pressure, darkness, no air, and the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. Still no sign. I had to return to the surface. But it was too far. Halfway back up, I felt consciousness trying to leave me as the lack of oxygen took hold. The world looked suddenly all red and blue as my mouth opened and the Elfwash entered my lungs. I vaguely remember breaking the surface as I lost the battle. And Galianne. I never saw her again.  
  
The next few days I spent convalescing and weeping for my only friend. The rest of the family, though somewhat quiet, hardly seemed to notice Galianne's absence. Heartless, I thought. What was wrong with these people? I just couldn't stand to be with them any longer. Within two weeks, I ran away, leaving them far behind. Forever.  
  
* * *  
  
For many weeks I wandered aimlessly in the forest between the villages of our land, sorrow weighing heavily upon me. I'd often go for days without food, just drinking the morning dew off large leaves in the forest, nibbling at berries and mushrooms when hunger became unbearable. I thought I'd had little purpose in life as a woodcutting Trielopas, but now I had none. What was I to do? Where was I to go? Should I go home? Should I seek out a large town to start a new life? Then it struck me: the hippogryph! I would search out the beast and its rider, plead for a job mucking out stables if need be, and travel with them!  
  
Yes, that was it! I picked up greatly after that, my only regret being that Galianne couldn't be with me. Maybe I should have taken her with me when I first decided. Maybe she'd be alive today if I had. But before I could start feeling too guilty, I was disrupted by the rush of strong wings and pounding hooves as none other than the hippogryph and rider swooped down before me. It had to be more than coincidence.  
  
"Little one, it seems it is now time," the rider said as he leapt lightly to the forest floor. "You look not at all well, here, take my cloak."  
  
The rider then unhooked his cloak at several points, allowing the dark covering to spill across his arm, revealing for the first time, his face. Her face! The rider was a woman! And not human either, for the ears were long and pointed. But not unattractively. In fact she was quite gorgeous. Now that the cloak was removed, I could see much of her obviously elven figure. Suddenly I didn't feel cold anymore.  
  
"Come with me, half-breed, I take you as apprentice, no?" And she placed the cloak around my shoulders (it fit as if tailored for me) and, as she had in the village so long ago, plucked me up and placed me onto the hippogryph's back. "We ride!"  
  
Again, the beautiful beast (that's the hippogryph, if you're wondering) took to the air. The pure exhilaration of flight took my breath away once again, but didn't quite manage to distract me from the close presence of the gorgeous elf. I think all these sensations, combined with a weakness brought on by hunger, caused me to drift into a blissful, if precarious, sleep. How or why I didn't fall was, and still is, a mystery.  
  
I awoke sometime later, it may have been hours or even days, I don't know, to find myself lying naked beneath many furs in a small house or cottage. My senses were suddenly overwhelmed by the plethora of scents drifting through the room. A mixture of the furs and some other quite alien aromas, possibly coming from the collection of bottles and jars sitting atop a large wooden table not far from where I lay. Sunlight, too, was filling the room, highlighting the drifting dust stirred up by my movements.  
  
"So the little one has aroused, I see," said a voice. It sounded like the elven rider's, but I couldn't be sure. No one was visible within the room.  
  
"I-is that you?" I asked, not really knowing who you was.  
  
"Yes, my little Rimone, it is I, Marina." And before my fascinated eyes, I beheld the motes of dust swirl and coalesce into a shapely female elf.  
  
Marina. A woman of many talents, one of which was magic. From that day on she taught me many things. Not just spell craft, but how to ride the great hippogryph, Seldwyneer; how to prepare food to impress even a king; how the stars significantly affected all our lives; the history of the ancients; even basic engineering concepts (useful for creating magical traps, I was told). And other things I'd rather not discuss, but just as significant to a growing teenager.  
  
She also taught me many things about myself. That I was a half-elf for one, though I couldn't imagine an elven male desiring my ageing mother (I later discovered that elves seek much variety in their extended lifespans, maybe that explains it a little). And that I had an aptitude for the elemental side of magic, air in particular. This didn't surprise me greatly, it really only confirmed an unconscious yearning I'd always felt.  
  
For some four or five years I studied beneath the elven mage. I changed my name to Hieronymous Zephyr when I came of age, as I always intended. Hieronymous Alchron Armetis was a brilliant mage I'd read of who'd met with an untimely death in the early stages of the Wizard War. Zephyr was given to me by Marina for two reasons. Clearly one was that it signified my air elemental nature. The other she asked me never to reveal. And so I shan't. Sorry.  
  
I could go on and on about my apprenticeship, telling you all the interesting and exciting adventures that took place, but I'd be lying. It was mainly tedious, hard work, combined with hours spent memorizing alien concepts gained from dusty old tomes. Flying Seldwyneer, on the other hand, was a joy I wish I could share with you all. Flight is magical, no matter the means. I wish I'd been born a bird, at times.  
  
All in all, my years with Marina were pleasant, but they had to end eventually. She grew bored, as elves do, and I began desiring more knowledge of the world. Not only that, Marina and I both knew that, as an air elementalist, I would need to gain more information in my area of expertise than she was able to give me. And so, after a suitable farewell to the lovely Marina, I exited the cottage for the final time and wandered over to the stable where Seldwyneer was housed. We'd grown quite attached over the years, and the intelligent creature knew, and felt sorrow for, my departure. I tousled his feathery main, fed him some rabbit meat, and left.  
  
Strolling south down the narrow path, I turned for one last look at the cottage that had been my home for many years. But it was gone. Not a trace. I stood in wonder and awe at Marina's power. I had a lot to learn, that I knew. Would I ever match her skill? Would I ever see her or the hippogryph again? I felt I would.  
  
Turning back south once again, I headed off towards the world beyond, my staff in hand. Staff? I didn't own a staff!  
  
"You do now, my little Hieronymous Zephyr," came Marina's free floating voice. "Consider it a parting gift, such that it is. And yes, half-elf mage, we will meet again, no?"  
  
She'd done it again. With my new staff held proudly before me, I set off to find new adventures, Marina's parting gift giving off a dull glow in the forest gloom, lightening my heart. 


End file.
